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"Who, me?" Mamma laughed. "Me? I just stupid Italian woman. What do they care about me?"
"Mamma! They'll put anyone in jail for the least little thing."
"Can they put ten, twenty thousand peoples in jail? only jail big enough is the mills, and we already been in those."
Mrs. J., Anna, and Marija laughed at that. Anna laughed so hard, she began to cough. Mamma got her a cup of water and put her arm around her. She murmured to Anna while the girl sipped the water. Rosa watched in horror. Was it just the winter weather or was Anna getting sick in the lungs the way so many of the girls did?
She was startled by Mrs. J.'s jovial "And we ain't goin' back till dey do what we say, hey, Alba?" Mrs. J. had taken to calling Mamma by her first name. Mamma looked up, her worried look gone. It wasn't right. The Jarusalises were boarders whose no-good papa had run off. Now all of a sud
den, Mrs. J. was acting cozy as a sister to Mamma, and Mamma didn't even seem to mind. She was smiling.
"Oof," she said, dropping into a chair. "My feet tired, just like I work all day. Go down street, Marija. Find out where we meet tomorrow." Anna started for the door. "No, not you, bambina. You rest a bit here with Mamma. We got to be strong for tomorrow."
"Mamma!" Rosa couldn't believe her ears. "You're not going to parade again tomorrow?"
"I do if Joe Ettor say so."
"Mamma, you're just letting those godless anarchists push you around!"
Mamma snapped around to look at her. "What do you know, Rosa? You see inside Mr. Joe Ettor's heart?"
"Miss Finch—"
"Don' 'Miss Finch' me, okay? She know school, she don' know nothing 'bout mill work or Mr. Joe Ettor, neither. Now go on, Marija. Run ask Mrs. Marino where we meeting tomorrow morning. And you, Anna, go lie down on the bed a minute." Anna hesitated. "Go on, obey your mamma." Anna went into the back room, but she left the door open, as though afraid she might miss something.
Mamma settled down in her chair, and then to Rosa's horror she leaned forward, took off her worn shoes, and began to rub her feet—right there in front of Mrs. Jarusalis. She breathed out a huge sigh, making Mrs. J. laugh again.
"Goot idea, Alba," she said, taking off her own shoes and raising a big, dirty foot across her knee to rub it, her skirt hiked up almost to her waist.
Was the strike going to turn them all into savages?
"Oooh, could I use a cuppa coffee now," Mamma said.
"Can you still remember da taste?" Mrs. J. asked.
"Never forget coffee. Like you don' forget your first kiss." Mamma's eyes were closed, and she licked her lips, as though tasting either the coffee or the kiss, making Rosa cringe with embarrassment.
"I have to do my homework now."
"Good," said Mamma without opening her eyes. "Good girl."
After she had finished her homework—what she could do of it without an arithmetic or grammar textbook—Rosa stayed in the front room with the door closed. She could hear the women talking and laughing; even Granny and the little Jarusalis boys were joining in the good humor of the evening. Mamma and Mrs. J. were the happiest they'd been since they'd lived together. It made Rosa angry. Mamma was ruining her life—all their lives—with this crazy strike. Anna would get sick, and they'd starve—which reminded her that no one had even mentioned supper.
Just then the door to the hall flew open, and Marija burst through it and headed for the kitchen. "Close the door!" Rosa cried, but Marija didn't hear her. She was rushing in with news. When Rosa got off the bed to close the door herself, she heard them all talking at the same time, their words tripping over each other. Rosa heard the word "food" and, in spite of herself, went to the kitchen to find out what the excitement was about.
Anna was already up from her rest. She turned when she saw Rosa standing there. "They've set up a soup kitchen!" she said, her eyes dancing. "Union workers from Boston and Lowell brought it. And they say people are going to send money from all over the country! Workers everywhere want to support us in the strike!"
Mamma was on her feet. While the girls gathered bowls and spoons for all of them, Mamma went into the back room and took the still sleeping little Ricci out of bed and wrapped him in her shawl. "Come," she ordered. "Everybody to the Italian hall."
Rosa stood aside and let them all pass her. She hung back. At the front door, Mamma turned. "Come, Rosa. You, too."
Rosa hesitated. "It's like begging when you can't pay," she muttered.
"It's like feasting," Mamma said. "Come on, don' be a fool. You need to eat." She reached out her free hand and said gently, "Come on, my Rosina. Don' be sour face."
Rosa didn't take Mamma's hand, but she followed her down the stairs and out into the street. Everyone was in a carnival mood, heading for the various ethnic halls where there was food to be had. "Come on, Marta," Mamma said to Mrs. J. "You come to Chabis Hall. Be Italian just for one night. Too far to walk to Sons of Lithuania, okay?" Mrs. J. laughed and all the J.'s went with them to Chabis Hall, where tables and chairs were set up. They were among the first, and Mamma sent Granny and Rosa and little Ricci and the boys to save seats while the women and older girls stood in line.
The soup was thick with vegetables and bits of meat, the aroma alone almost enough to fill an empty stomach. There was fresh crusty bread, too, more for each person than any of them had had for months. "See, Rosa," Mamma said. "We don' starve if we strike. Our union friends help us."
